


When Flames Collide

by NotReallyHere (Actuallysortahere)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actuallysortahere/pseuds/NotReallyHere
Summary: A common interest can quickly turn allies against one another, and the darkness can be ever so tempting with the right push.





	1. Chapter 1

The sunlight was almost blinding as the four Warriors of Light breached the surface of the salt lake at the centre of the Lochs, frantically paddling to the shore and dragging themselves out of the water. The four had been exploring the caverns underneath the Lochs, searching for any further chambers that might have stored treasures stashed by the Mad King. The Ishgardian Dark Knight, Daseaux Louhon, carried the unconscious body of the White Mage, Tufufu Tufu, under one arm, her tiny form taking very little effort to shift as he crawled away from the water. After putting a few feet between themselves and the lapping water, he lay the Lalafell down on her back, before almost collapsing onto his own, staring up at the sky panting. Close behind him came Solmund, sheathing his daggers and falling to his knees beside the prostrate healer, placing a two fingers to her neck and waiting, before sighing, relieved.  
“She’s alive, at least.” He grunted, sitting himself beside them. “We all made it out, thankfully. God knows how, though. What happened in there?”. The Elezen groaned, lifting himself onto one arm while his other arm reach back, unlatching the greatsword from his back and letting it clatter to the floor.  
“My thoughts are that we drew far too much ire from the residents of those caverns. Apparently one of us decided to throw away caution and garnered the attention of far too many of the foul beings down there.” His grumbling was pained and he craned his neck to view their fourth member scrabbling up the shore, his soaked robes sagging from his body and the fur on his tail matted, his staff thrown several feet ahead of him. “Damn bastard almost got us killed! What were you thinking, Rhigi?!” he shouted, his free arm now clutching his chest. The miqo’te scowled back, baring his fangs.  
“I did nothing of the sort! Those fiends were on their way with or without my action!” his retort was loud, but half-hearted and unconvincing. “Besides, where were you during all that? You’re meant to be the one drawing their attention away so Solmund and I can do our jobs! Yet the minute Tufufu started chanting, she was beaten down before she could finish!”.  
“Ah yes, because I can be everywhere at once.” Daseauxs’ words were dripping with sarcasm, which only served to annoy F’Rhigi further. Soon, the two were bellowing insults at each other, their voices carrying out into the quiet plateaus. As the two argued, Solmund tended to the downed plainsfolk, who slowly began to stir, moaning quietly as she regained consciousness.

Gradually sitting herself up, supported by the ninja beside her, she tried to gain her bearings, grimacing in pain and bringing her hands to her ears.  
“Will the two of you just be quiet?!” she screamed, and the two bickerers silenced themselves, though they still glared at each other. Her hands moved from her ears, rubbing her temples as she groaned. “That’s better. My head’s already killing me and I don’t need you two making it worse. Now, we’re all alive, and I can fix any damage you’ve taken later. But please, let’s get back to Ala Mhigo first. Okay?” she calmly said, trying her best to calm her companions, at least for the time being. Reluctantly, the two agreed to co-operate again and they slowly lifted themselves to their feet, trudging back towards the sandstone walls in the distance. Tempers still flared as blame was shifted, most fingers pointed towards the Black Mage, but for the most part the foursome trekked quietly, trying to avoid any further ire. Eventually, F’Rhigi piped up, snapping out of some sort of deep thought that had plagued him during the silence.   
“Y’know, it’s going to sound really cheesy, but after seeing how quickly that turned sour, it made me realise how quickly our end might come, and well, there’s a lot of things I’ve wanted to do that I haven’t had the chance to.” Reaching his arms up behind his head, he leaned back just a little, staring up at the sky and the gradually setting sun. Daseaux rolled his eyes, shrugging.  
“Let me guess. You’re going to talk about how you’re going to go back and become the Nunh again? Or maybe about your love for the Archon Y’shtola? Or are you going to surprise us with something new this time?”. F’Rhigi laughed, a broad smile spreading across his face.  
“Both. I figure that it might finally be time to tell the beautiful Archon how I feel, and with her at my side I could take on F’panch Nunh. We could rule a whole tribe together. Start a family.” This time it was Solmunds’ turn to roll his eyes.  
“You realise she’d never give up working with the Scions, don’t you? She’s far too focussed on saving the world, I doubt she’d pay romance any attention, Let alone your impure passions.”. The miqo’te snorted his disdain at the comment.  
“There’s nothing impure about my love for her. The fact that she’s incredibly beautiful and our children would be both mighty and fair is nothing to scoff at.” Bringing a fist to his mouth to muffle his words, he added a mumbled. “and neither would making them.” Before his fist revealed a smirk. “But either way, I’ve decided that once we return to the Scions, I’m going to let her know, and if all goes well…well, that’s for me to know.” His sly grin said all the others wanted to know, and they left his point alone, though it didn’t stop him rattling on further, exhausting the many ways he felt himself a perfect match for the Archon.

Back in the palace of Ala Mhigo, Harkas found herself amid the Royal Menagerie, the many flower gardens bathed a deep orange in the light of the setting sun. Since her accidental confession barely a week ago, and the start of her relationship with Y’shtola the days had seemed to float by. Most days the pair got only a short time alone, a chance meeting in the halls or a brief period at night when both had earned their respite after the multitude of tasks they were given, and even that was used to teach Harkas the higher arts such as diplomacy. Hardly enough time for a budding romance, Harkas felt, but such was the life of liberators now left to restructure a nation.  
What it meant was that times like this were all the more precious. Sat upon a rough spun blanket spread across the stone between two of the flowerbeds, she watched the sun setting over the mountaintops, before her gaze drifted down at the white haired miqo’te whose head rested in her lap. This had been the first real opportunity the two had had to be together in any sense of romance. Luck had it that the Scions work had finished early today, Alphinaud, Lyse and Raubahn requiring time to prepare the next step in their plans leaving Y’shtola with some free time, and Harkas having finished her tasks encountered the Archon in the halls, suggested simply watching the sunset together. It was a simple pleasure, but one of the first they had managed to share and the warrior was going to make the most of it, the archon sharing the sentiment. After they’d arrived, Harkas had set out the blanket and sat down her legs bend underneath her, leaning on one arm, expecting Y’shtola to simply sit beside her. Much to her surprise, the Archon opted to lay herself down, resting her head upon Harkas’ thighs and gazing up at the warrior with a sly grin, before gradually closing her eyes. 

Slowly, Harkas lifted a hand and gently brushed it through the miqo’tes silken hair causing Y’shtola to let out a contented sigh, her eyes fluttering open.  
“I must admit, Harkas. I had doubts when I first agreed to this situation.” Her sultry voice was soothing to the warrior, who kept stroking her snowy locks.  
“I’d have be surprised if you didn’t.” she replied with a slight chuckle.  
“Yes, well, it’s hardly a common dilemma. But as things stand, here and now…I’m glad I did. It’s been far too long since I’ve experienced something like this. At least, with a partner…a romantic one.” It was the first time Harkas had seen Y’shtola struggle with her words, and it made her all the more endearing.  
“I can’t say I’ve done this much before, either. And as for with a…romantic partner…that number pretty much drops to zero. I just wish I’d had more time to prepare. I could’ve brought some food, some candles. We could’ve made this into a proper evening. But, I suppose that’s the drawback with secrecy.” Harkas’ shoulders sagged and her smiled weakened somewhat. “Just have to play with what time we can get rather than plan anything, huh?”  
“It’s our compromise, yes. But that just makes the time we get all the more special, does it not?” the archons’ voice was like a soft melody in Harkas’ ear as the Miqo’tes hand reached up, the back of her fingers brushing over the warriors cheek, bringing back her smile before she returned the gesture, her considerably larger thumb tracing over the archons whisker-like facial markings.

What was a dream come true for Harkas was a nightmare for F’Rhigi, who watched unnoticed from the stairway that lead up into the menagerie. The sun had set by the time he and his companions reached the palace and as fortune would have it, he’d quickly run into Alisae, who’d told him in which direction Y’shtola had left. Tracing her steps lead him to one of the resistance guards who’d caught a glimpse of her heading towards the Royal Menagerie with one of the other scions, a towering woman as he’d described her, and with that he’d sped towards the stairs that lead to the rooftop gardens that made up the menagerie. What he saw had made his heart sink in his chest.   
The archon Y’shtola wrapped in the arms of the hulking beast he knew as one of his fellow warriors of light, who sat on the far side of the plaza, the archon in her lap, both too enraptured to even notice him. He could feel the fire burning in his chest, the anger and hate boiling up, and as the moon began to peer over the mountains, illuminating the gardens in a silver light, he saw Y’shtola turn her head. He saw them draw closer, ilm by ilm. And then he saw the kiss, and something inside of him snapped. His teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists that trembled with rage. For a brief moment he considered unleashing it, to channel that rage into his black magic. But not here, not while Y’shtola was nearby. No, this had to be done more carefully. He would remove the hulking obstruction from his path, and when he did, there would be nothing between him and his love. His hand reached back, curling around his staff and bringing it to bare, before he disappeared back into the palace halls and the orange lamplight that lit them. First he’d need some less conspicuous robes.

All in all, Harkas had gotten just over two hours alone with Y’shtola in the menagerie before the archon had to excuse herself and return to her duties. The time together had done her mood wonders, the warrior was practically gliding through the torchlit hallways, a warm smile plastered upon her face. She paid the passing resistance guards little mind, who simply watched her pass by, one offering a salute as she did so, recognising one of the liberators of Ala Mhigo, Nor did she pay much mind to the darkness that filled the sandstone corridors near her room. Most likely the torches had burned out and none of guards had made the time to replace them. Not a big problem, all things considered, just an inconvenience as the moonlight through the window behind her lit just enough for her to make her way to her door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a plan is enacted.

From the shadows F’Rhigi watched as the giant form of Harkas fumbled with the door. It was a simple matter to lock her out of her own room, and her rummaging through her coat provided ample opportunity to spring his trap. He began his chanting, as hushed as he could manage, and fragments of arcane ice began to manifest around the head of his staff, though this was not his typical staff. Carved from antelope horns native to Gyr Abania and adorned with a simple garnet gemstone, it was a longshot from his bejewelled sceptre, but it would make do, much like his robes. No silken garments, just the rough green cotton and beige leathers that made up the uniforms of the Ala Mhigan resistance fighters. Such a disguise would serve aptly, just another masked face in amongst hundreds of others. And now his chant had reached it’s climax, ice spiralling around his staff and with a flick of his wrist, he pointed it at the warrior.

She didn’t remember locking the door to the room she and Y’shtola shared, but as the door rattled and refused to open, she figured the archon must have done so sometime earlier. As she began rifling through her pockets she briefly considered just busting it open, though she doubted Y’shtola would appreciate her actions. It took her a moment to finally find the small brass key, and as she twisted it in lock, she felt a sudden chill. Around her boots, ice sprouted from the ground, icicles bursting forth and twisting over her feet anchoring her in place. Quickly she scanned her surroundings, searching for her attacker, and in the darkness, just peering around the corner to her right, she saw the hooded figure. He looked just like a member of the Ala Mhigan resistance, though his uniform didn’t seem to fit him as well as others, and she spotted a writhing tail spouting from his behind. Her concern wasn’t for the ill fitting garb, however, as it was for the swirling embers around him, which coalesced into a flaming orb that he hurled at her. She braced herself as best she could, but rooted to the spot, she bore the brunt of it in her flank. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs, and in seconds she was engulfed in searing flames that bit at her flesh, burning away at the collar of her shirt and charring her leather coat. The heat even stifled her pained howl, preventing her drawing the air to scream, but there was still a positive. The intense heat had flash-melted the ice that bound her, and she threw herself towards her attacker.

His plan was working flawlessly. The ice had rooted her in place, and his fire was a direct hit. He took a brief moment to revel in sadistic glee, even someone as tough as Harkas would suffer in that, and how she deserved it. She had dared to snatch his happiness right from his hands, and now she’d pay the price for it. She would die, here and now. Y’shtola would require some consoling, and he’d be right there for her, and soon, she would forget the brute, she would fall for him. He was snapped from his fantasy by shouting as a flame traced figure stumbled from the pillar of fire. Her pain was obvious in her voice and he smirked as she stumbled towards his. But soon her unsteady steps gained form, she began striding towards him, pained grunts turning into a growl and he began his next incantation.

Every nerve in her body was screaming in pain, but her clenched jaw prevented any noise beyond grunting. It took her a few steps to recover, but she was soon advancing on the ambusher as he began his next cast, drawing her axe from her back and hefting it in front. Channelling all her anger into her legs, she lunged at him, travelling the 20 yalms between them in the blink of an eye, slamming the hilt into his gut. Instantly, the gathering aether around him dissipated as his spell was interrupted and his body sent reeling several feet with a groan of pain. Up close his magic posed significantly less of a threat, he couldn’t channel the aether he needed with her onslaught keeping him occupied. That’s what she thought, at least, Right up until she saw a light encircle him, a sudden influx of aether surging around him, and before she could react, a violet bolt of lightning arced from his staff, tearing into her left arm and convulsing through her entire body. 

F’Rhigi hadn’t anticipated the warrior to recuperate this quickly, nor had he had much of an opportunity to observe her in combat previously, so when the brute had crossed the distance between them in a fraction of a second, he had no reaction, the metal haft of her axe striking him in the gut, driving him back several paces gasping for air. He couldn’t let her press the attack, and so he drew upon the techniques he learnt during his training as a thaumaturge, the aether he needed to hurl his spells forming instantly around him, and with a thought he turned it into crackling electricity that flashed through the air between them, vanishing into her flesh and causing her to spasm for a split second. He had the upper hand now, and while he wanted to gloat he only allowed himself a twisted chuckle as he drew back his staff preparing his next spell, and he held the advantage for all of several seconds. He crouched low, gathering more fire-aspected aether in his staff, when he saw her arm wrench sideways, and he realised his assumption of a safe distance was short, her long arms coupled with the full length of her axes haft gave her the reach she needed. He tried to dodge it, tried to throw himself to the ground but he was too slow, and with a heavy crack, the flat of the axe struck the side of his head, knocking him to the floor.

The spasming of her muscles abated just long enough for Harkas to get a solid swing in, and while her instinct was to just kill him, there was a strong chance that the scions would want to question her attacker. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just kill him later anyways, so she swung with the flat of her axe, connecting with his temple and sending him sprawling to the ground. Not wasting a moment, she stepped forward, bringing a hand down to grab his neck and slammed his face into the stone with a dull thud as he lost consciousness.

The hallway was plunged into silence once more and in the distance Harkas could hear the hurried thumping of boots approaching to investigate the disturbance. She let out a pained sigh and slumped against the wall. The left side of her face and her arm felt as though they were pierced by a multitude of daggers, her coat seemed to have been fused to her skin and there was a pungent smell of burnt hair permeating the area. Sliding down the wall until she hit the floor, she waited for whoever was approaching, loosely gripping her axe in case these were allies of this ambusher. Moments later, a band of figures rounded the corner. Two resistance fighters came first, scimitars drawn and at the ready, a torch burning in their other hand, as they made to secure the area. Close behind them was the tall, sleek form Harkas recognised as Daseaux, his silvered armour glinting in the moonlight, his greatsword held at his side. Beside him and struggling somewhat to keep stride was the small figure of Tufufu, staff raised as she assessed the situation and prepared to mend any injured, and trailing a few fulms back came Lyse, also a torch in hand, and Y’shtola. Neither had weapons drawn, but were ready to do so should they be needed. What they saw was what appeared to be an unconscious Ala Mhigan resistance member, blood starting to pool underneath his head, beside a hunched, still smoking warrior whose axe now slid from her fingers with a light clatter as her head slumped.

The two soldiers moved to tend to their similarly clad compatriot with Tufufu in tow, while Daseaux, Lyse and Y’shtola made for Harkas. Dropping to one knee, the Elezen gently placed his hand on the less damaged of Harkas shoulders, lifting the visor of his helm.  
“Harkas!” he gave the Roegadyn a soft shake causing her to lift her head and glace up at him. She was grimacing, but looked relieved to see her allies. “What happened here? Are you alright?”. Harkas let out a couple of wheezy coughs before pointing at the unconscious miqo’te.  
“Damn bastard tried to torch me. Waited for me to try my door before flinging his magical crap at me. No idea who he is, or how long he was waiting.”. She placed a hand on her knee and used it to gradually lift herself up, grunting with the exertion before the dark knight offered her a hand, which she gladly took.  
“Looks like you took care of him though.” Lyse chimed in as she bounced her way between Harkas and her attacker. “You think he was waiting for you?”  
“It’s what it looks like. Trapped me in place and everything. Doesn’t seem like something spur of the moment. But I intend to ask him.” The warrior still leant on the wall for support and her voice did little to hide her pain. The two soldiers had rolled the mystery miqo’te over, and after hearing Harkas’ story now made to restrain him, binding his hands behind his back. Once he was secured, Tufufu moved in, a soft light forming around her hands that began to pass to the ambusher. As the lalafell worked to rouse the miqo’te, Y’shtola circled around Daseaux who had stooped to lift Harkas’ axe, masking her concern with a serious face.   
“How fare you, Harkas?” her eyes darted over the various afflictions Harkas now had. The left sleeve of her coat had virtually melted, what fabric of her shirt was exposed had been burnt away, the skin on her arm and face was blistered and warped, turned a raw red with patches of charred black, steaks of deep crimson trailing from them and her hair had burnt away, a considerable portion of her hair on the left side of her head reduced to a smouldering mess and an eyebrow had been burned completely away. Despite all this, Harkas forced a smile as she hefted the axe proffered by the Elezen, hooking it back into place on her back.  
“I’ve been better.” She grunted through gritted teeth. “But I’ve had worse…I think.”. Her response elicited a relieved smirk from the archon, though it faded quickly.  
“Well, no matter. We should get you tended to afore long. No doubt you seek some succor.” Y’shtolas’ response was soft, though her eyes kept darting to the warriors wounds as she offered a shoulder for support, which was gladly taken.  
“Yeah…but first, I want to find out who this little bastard is.” Harkas’ expression turned stern as she glared down at the attacker. No doubt he’d awaken soon with Tufufu’s healing hands, and then they could get some information.

The light had passed over the attackers body, and he began to show signs of consciousness. A twitch, followed by a pained groan as he became aware of his splitting headache. His hands strained against his bonds as he instinctively tried to rub his head and they finally got a clearer look at him. He was indeed wearing standard Ala Mhigan resistance clothing, complete with hood and facewrap, but two fuzzy, brown feline ears poked from the hood, and a tail from his rear. It told them nothing beyond him being a miqo’te, but as he lifted his head he realised his situation. He was flanked on each side by two soldiers, a Tufufu had taken a step back, but still remained nearly a fulm away, and a pace behind her stood Daseaux, who gleamed in the light giving him an almost angelic appearance, were it not for the greatsword held at the ready. Beside him stood Lyse, the moonlight giving her blonde hair a silver shine, who looked ready to beat some answers out of their prisoner, and then his eyes continued along. 

And then he saw her, several fulms behind the others, glistening in the pale moonlight like a heavenly maiden and his breath caught in his throat. But attached to her was Harkas. Not just attached, Y’shtola was supporting her, and he felt the bile rise from his gut.  
“TRAITOR!” he bellowed, catching his captors off guard. “BACKSTABBER!”. Everyone looked confused as the soldiers hooked their hands under his shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. He took in another sharp breath and prepared to shout again, before Lyse took a step forward.  
“Be quiet!”. She didn’t shout, but made her demand poignant. “Now, are you going to tell us why you attacked Harkas or are we going to have to force it out of you?”. She received a glare in response and Daseaux took a step forward, ready to give some incentive when he spoke up again.  
“I just told you why. Traitors deserve nothing more.” His words were filled with venom as he turned his scorned look to the warrior.  
“Harkas is no traitor.” Daseaux responded, his hand seizing the miqo’tes throat. “She’s done more for your resistance than you ever could.” He shifted his hand so that it forced the attacker to look up at him, and it only took a second for the Elezen to notice something familiar, and his expression shifted from angered to confused. Immediately the miqo’te knew Daseaux recognised him, but hadn’t identified him and he tried to shake himself free of the grip, but that only prompted the Dark Knight to tighten his grasp, his other hand slowly rose up and pulled the facemask away, and if his face didn’t give away his shock, his voice did as his hand pulled away.  
“Rhigi?!”

Rhigi snarled, his secret revealed to his captors who reacted with a mix of surprise and anger.   
“Not the resistance. She’s betrayed me.” His words were sharp and pointed towards Scions and Warriors of light both. Lyse and Y’shtola exchanged glances, before both turned to the unsteady Harkas, who looked equally perplexed.  
“I have done nothing to you.” The warrior snapped back. “You’re the only traitor here.”  
“You think I don’t know?” F’Rhigis voice dropped to a low growl, wishing his words could kill. “I saw you. You took what I desired most. Claimed it so I never could.” His words caused the gathered to shift glances, making the warrior the centre of attention.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did I cause some brain damage or something when I beat you? Or are you just trying to paint me as the villain here?” Harkas’ words lacked the harsh tone of her former compatriot, but none of the force. Lyse took another step towards the Black Mage, clearly curious as she examined the warrior, before she turned to him.  
“And what exactly did she take?”

It was a moment before F’Rhigi shifted his gaze to respond.  
“I saw her. Earlier this evening, as the sun set.” His tone had softened, just a fraction. “In the Royal Menagerie.”. Both Harkas and Y’shtola immediately realised what he was referring to, the warriors eyes went wide as she glanced down at the archon under her arm, whose face turned stern. “I saw her. And she wasn’t alone, oh, no she wasn’t.” his head turned and his eyes fixed upon the white haired miqo’te. His silence prompted the others to follow his gaze, until all eyes were upon her.  
“So, you saw Harkas and Y’shtola? That’s it?” Lyse chimed in, glancing back at F’Rhigi.  
“Oh, no. I saw more.” He snarled. Harkas wanted to jump in, to shut him up, but she had no words with which to interject that wouldn’t add suspicion. “I saw the two of them. And I saw the kiss. I saw her take what I have yearned for years.” The revelation caused a number of reactions. Both Lyse and Tufufu let out a gasp. Daseaux managed to mask the brunt of his surprise, but he still found himself staring at the two. Harkas looked horrified, one of her biggest secrets had just been forcibly exposed, though if the statement Y’shtola statement caused any distress, she didn’t show it, maintaining her stony gaze. F’Rhigi matched it, glaring back at her.  
“Do you deny it?” he spoke as if it were a challenge to the archon, whose brow furrowed even more.  
“I had wished it kept secret. But I do not deny it.” Her words matched her stern expression, and prompted Lyse to stare, open mouthed, at her.  
“Shtola, you’ve been getting that close with Harkas? I thought you had no interest in that sort of stuff.” She sounded genuinely astounded, but her look of surprise was quickly turning into a beaming smile, though her cheer wasn’t changing the Archons face.  
“Circumstances can change. But that is inconsequential.” Y’shtola lifted a hand, pointing at F’Rhigi. “And that is your reason for this attack?”. The Thaumaturges face twisted into a grim smile.  
“For years I have worked, no, strived to make myself into someone worthy of your interest. Weeks upon weeks of constant study just to match up to you. Throwing my life into conflict after conflict as my duty demanded, all so that one day we could be together.” His unsettling smirk turned to glaring daggers as he shifted to Harkas. “But then this savage, this barbarian swoops in and claims everything I’ve worked so hard towards. Someone so undeserving of your affections that I thought this some cruel joke. But I will not stand idly by while this injustice cheats me out of my hearts desires.”  
“So you tried to kill her?!” Lyse barked, balling her fists. “You tried to murder her because of some petty jealousy?!”  
“I wouldn’t put it that way.” His face turned from grim to unsettlingly calm. “I think of it more like removing one of the obstacles stopping me from reaching happiness. By force.” He gave a shrug. “Much like we’ve been doing so far with the Garleans and the primals.”  
“But she was your ally! Your friend!” Lyse was an ilm away from punching him as she screamed, but F’Rhigi simply sneered.  
“She was never a friend. And merely an ally of convenience. But convenient no longer.”  
“Rhigi has always shown some mild distaste towards Harkas. He’s always thought her uncultured and impulsive” Daseaux interjected. It was directed to the other scions, as he struggled to bring himself to look at his companion, but he forced himself to turn to him. “But this…You’re a disgrace, Rhigi.”  
“Oh no, how awful.” The miqo’te spat sarcasm back at the elezen. “A lecture on loyalty from the knight who turned on his own spiritual leader. How are things up on that high chocobo of yours?” Now it was Daseauxs’ turn to glare disdainfully.  
“He lead a whole nation down a path of lies and war. You were merely jealous. My conscience is clear.” Again, F’Rhigi sneered. “But putting the past behind us, you once more bit off more than you can chew. You failed.”  
“And you’ll be spending tonight at least in jail.” Lyse jeered at him, and the soldiers that held the bound miqo’te nodded, and made to drag him away.  
“You’re scum, Harkas!” F’Rhigi bellowed. “Backstabbing swine!” The scions that remained turned to leave, Y’shtola supporting Harkas as they headed for their room to mend the wounds, Lyse in tow. “You’re undeserving of her affection, you uneducated savage!” he kept loosing words like arrows, hoping one would stick, though none did. Daseaux stood, disgusted as he watched his former ally dragged away. He felt a tap on his leg, and looking down, saw Tufufu, who looked disturbed and saddened, and knelt so that she could speak easier.  
“We should go with them.” She whispered. “If he tries something, they’ll need help.” Her own words caused a surge of guilt. She knew what he’d done, but the thought of having to face off against her former friend left her feeling sickened. Daseaux simply nodded, taking a moment to wrap an arm around her, holding her close in an effort to comfort her.  
“And I’m glad your whore of a sister died!” another outburst erupted from F’Rhigi as he writhed in the guards grip, wrenching an arm free and spinning to face Harkas. This one cut through the subdued chatter leaving only silence, and Scion and Warrior of Light alike froze, staring at the miqo’te, stunned, before slowly they turned to Harkas, who remained bolted in place.

“What did you just say?” Harkas’ words were a low growl that bounced through the hall and even the wind outside seemed to silence itself.  
“You heard me! That bitch of a sister you had! I’m glad she died facing Nidhogg! It’s all you deserve!” F’Rhigis’ taunt echoed back, breaking the silence for just a second before it closed back in. Both Tufufu and Daseaux took a step back, clearing the space between F’Rhigi and Harkas, glancing between both Warriors of Light. Lyse, meanwhile, stood shocked by the insults, having not noticed the Elezen and Lalafell sidling away. “The twelve denied me a mercy when you survived! I just hope it was painful for her! But I guess we’ll never know, will we?! And who’d want to see her again?!”.

Y’shtola gazed up at Harkas from under her arm, only seeing the gritted teeth, the rest of her face concealed by shadow, and slowly she lifted the warriors arm and slipped from beneath it. Taking a step towards Lyse, the archon grabbed her wrist, gently tugging at it, wordlessly asking the pugilist to follow. It took a moment for Lyse to notice the suggestion, finally snapping back to the situation and following Y’shtola out of the no-mans land forming between the Warrior and the Thaumaturge. As they reached what they felt a safe distance, they looked back. There, stood the rigid, unmoving form of Harkas. Then they realised she wasn’t still. Her hands were balled into fists, and her arms trembled with rage. Droplets of crimson fell from her fists, and Y’shtola wondered if they were from her wounds, or if she were clenching them so hard she was actually drawing blood.  
“Nobody! We’re better off without that useless harlot!” F’Rhigi kept pushing his point, until finally, Harkas snapped, spinning in a fraction of a second, her stance stooped.  
“SHUT UP. FOR TWELVES SAKE, SHUT YOU GODS DAMNED MOUTH.” She screamed, and all who heard it stepped back, the guards who previously held F’Rhigi put some distance between themselves and their quarry, who stood his ground.  
“Or you’ll what?” he sneered. “You can’t do anything! You never could! That’s why she’s dead!” he let out a leacherous chuckle, but it was drowned out by Harkas’ bellowing, pained scream. The others could only watch as the warrior writhed, her hands pawing at her head amidst wails. They could feel aether pooling around her, though F’Rhigi either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He stood gloating as Harkas’ howling turned into a guttural roar, wisps of red and black aether flickered around her like fire, and her eyes glowed a deep crimson. “Look at your warrior now! Look at the woman you chose, Y’shtola! No more than a rabid bea-” The miqo’te had attempted to gloat, but was unable to finish his sentence before he felt his jaw break as a fist as hard as steel struck him. In the blink of an eye Harkas had crossed the distance between them, and as the first blow landed, the second was already incoming. Another fist driving deep into his gut causing him to buckle over. A third strike hit him in the temple sending him sprawling to the ground, landing on his back. In an instant the raging warrior was upon him, a knee on his chest keeping him pinned. He tried to wriggle free, but another blow came down, this time breaking his nose with a crack, and again, the miqo’te was knocked unconscious.

But Harkas’ onslaught didn’t stop. Blow after blow rained down upon his face, each one sending a spatter of crimson across the floor with a sickening thud and accompanied by a bestial howl, and the others could only watch, wondering if F’Rhigi would manage to survive. Blood had pooled beneath his head, and just as they thought he’d breathed his last, Harkas brought a fist up. And it stayed up. A minute passed in silence, until finally the fist dropped limply, and Harkas fell to the side landing face down. As she crumpled, the others finally moved, rushing to the prone figures. Most crowded around the Roegadyn, fearing she’d succumbed to her wounds. Y’shtola was the first to touch her, and Lyse noted that this was the first time she’d seen her look visibly panicked, clawing at the warriors shoulder and attempting to roll her over. Her hand was steadied as a silver gauntlet clasped over hers, Daseaux kneeling just beside her, though still standing more than a foot taller, his other hand hooked around Harkas’ waist, and together rolling her onto her back was simple. 

To their relief, the warrior was conscious, breathing raggedly. Her gaze was unfocussed, but as the archon placed a hand on her cheek, her eyes flickered, slowly shifting to stare up into the archons pale, almost diamond like eyes.  
“I…what happened?” her voice was coarse and scratchy, no doubt from the constant screaming. “I…I lost control, didn’t I?” her head rolled to the side, and she saw her handiwork. F’Rhigis’ face was unrecognisable, beaten to a bloody pulp, and Harkas was sure she’d busted one of his eyes. Struggling to sit up, she held a hand to her face, rubbing her nose and eyes with a groan. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I don’t think I’ve ever lost control like that before.” Again, she glanced at the ruined miqo’te beside her. “Though he deserved it. Just…I need to be alone.” No objections were offered, but Harkas could tell Y’shtola wanted to. Grunting as she rose to her feet, she stumbled to the wall, using it to keep herself upright as she shambled away around the corner. A moment later, they heard the door creak and slam closed. The group shared an uneasy look. They’d seen Harkas wield the power of the beast as her training had taught her, but they’d never seen her lose control.

It was Daseaux who broke the ensuing silence.  
“Well, she’s right. She’s not lost control for as long as I’ve known her.” He wore a wry smile, but that faded as he looked to F’Rhigi. “And even then, I don’t think was completely out of control. He’s alive, that much I can tell, and if she was at the complete mercy of the beast I don’t think I could say that. I can’t say I blame her though. I’d have done the same thing in her position. We all owe Reisui our lives. Numerous times, at that, and her passing was a grim time for all of us, I can only imagine how she suffered. I don’t know if he meant what he said, but gods I hope he didn’t.” He sighed, long and deep, before turning to a solemn looking Y’shtola. “I know she said she wanted to be alone, but you should go see her. At the very least you need to mend her wounds, And I think currently, you’re the only person who’d be able to provide her any comfort.” The archon was lost in thought, but nodded. “Don’t worry about Rhigi. We’ll make sure he’s seen to and interned.” Tufufu looked ready to interject, but quick hand gesture from the elezen made her hold it.  
“I believe you’re right.” The archon spoke at last, much to his relief. “She requires more help than she knows. And even if I’m only able to soothe her physical wounds, I would remain at her side nonetheless.” She took a step forward, but a tug on her hand stopped her. It’s source was Lyse, who held the archons hand for a moment, giving her a soft, warm smile and clasped her other hand over the top with a gently shake. The smile spread to Y’shtola, who in turn, cupped her free hand over Lyse’s.  
“Look at you, all supportive of your partner.” The monks cheery voice was almost teasing, but there was kindness behind it, that warmed the archons cheeks. “Maybe someday there’ll be wedding bells!” she giggled.  
“A little pre-emptive, Lyse. After all, barely seven moons have passed.” Y’shtola could only smile in response to her enthusiasm.  
“But you like her too, hm? The kitten is smitten herself?” another playful jab towards the archon, who could only nod, her cheeks flush. 

The moment was interrupted, however, by a thud emanating from the room Harkas had entered, spurring the miqo’te to leave.  
“Then if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped her hand from between Lyse’s and turned on her heel, heading towards the door, when a higher voice spoke out.  
“Y’shtola.” The archon paused, but didn’t turn as Tufufu spoke. “I hope this doesn’t need saying, but look after her.”  
“I will.” And with that, the archon left them to deal with the unconscious miqo’te.  
“You’ve really messed up this time, Rhigi.” She heard Daseaux mumble under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which wrongs are mended.

The creaking door was the only noise in the dark room as Y’shtola entered, the only smell that of burnt flesh and hair. The window let in very little light from this angle, and quickly scanning the room, she easily noticed the bulky form of Harkas huddled in the corner beside the large wooden wardrobe, but first made for the bedside table, taking the brass candle holder that stood upon it. Holding her fingers to the wick, a spark jumped forth, bringing a warm light to life. It served the archon little, but helped her illusion of sight as she re-searched the room. Strewn across the bed Harkas used was her ruined coat, charred leather still reeking and damp with blood. Not far from that was what was once a plain white shirt, now burned black and stained crimson, and leaning against the foot of the bed, standing a lonely vigil as if guarding the room, was her axe. Finally, in the corner, knees to her chest and face buried between them, was the warrior. Now stripped of upper clothing, her wounds were all the clearer. Where her coat had fused to her skin there was now shredded flesh, Harkas having simply torn it away without care, seeping scarlet drops. Large patches of blood red flesh were visable where the outer layers had melted away all along her arm and flank, and the remaining skin around it was warped and blistered. Even her face was marred with seared flesh, patches of scalp now exposed where hair had smouldered away. How she kept going with wounds like these was beyond the archon, but already the bleeding had mostly stopped, save for the fresh tears where leather and skin were once fused. This was her gift, an extrodinary resilience and recovery, but natural regeneration could only do so much. Curiously, the warriors right knuckle was scuffed, fragments of stone embedded within, a finger bent out of line, thin red streaks leading down the back of her hand. And this was her own blood, not that of F’Rhigi, as far as she could tell. The cracked stone on the wall above her gave her source of the new wound, and the earlier thud, though she wished it hadn’t been on the wall of their room.

Cautiously, Y’shtola knelt besides the hunched warrior, bringing her fingers within ilms of the warriors wounds. From here she could hear the Roegadyns hushed breathing, a relieving sign that she was still alive.  
“Harkas…” the Archon whispered. “Are you awake?”. There was a painful moment of silence where it almost seemed the warrior was unresponsive, until slowly her head turned, revealing a truly despondent face.  
“I thought I said I wanted to be alone?” Harkas tried to sound threatening, but her voice trembled.  
“And if that is truly what you wish, then I shall oblige.” Unlike the warrior, Y’shtola’s voice was calm and stern, almost demanding. “But not before these wounds are treated. I trust you’ll co-operate. Or will I have to restrain you?” She maintained eye contact as she gave her command, and for a moment she feared she’d have to follow through on the threat, until Harkas once again hid her face in her knees. Taking this as permission, Y’shtola began her work, closing her eyes as her fingers weaved a soft, pale light that then danced through the air between them. As it melted into the warriors skin, it began to spread over her whole body. 

The light soothed Harkas’ agony, and she could feel her body shifting as the magicks re-knitted and regrew skin. Where there were previously tears and bloodied craters, now fresh, smooth skin rose, warped skin twisted and reshaped itself, blisters faded away and the misaligned finger cracked back into place. Like watching time flow backwards, the injuries sealed themselves, new skin weaving itself together, rising from her afflictions until there was not a trace remaining. Even her hair had regrown, strands of light sprouting from her head and trailing for a fulm, before disappating revealing new locks of azure. Within seconds, it was impossible to tell just what had befallen Harkas minutes ago, the warrior looking as smooth as ever, with the exception of a number of scars that adorned her body as they had for years, each with a tale Harkas enjoyed telling, though she was in no mood to do so now. Opening her eyes, Y’shtola admired her handiwork, ensuring that she’d not missed anything.  
“And here you feared me becoming a target should our relationship become known.” Y’shtola smirked, trying to cheer up the warrior.  
“Because this is so much better.” Came the muffled response. Gradually, Harkas turned her head once more to stare back at the archon. “because if this is what an Ally will do to get rid of me, then I can only imagine what an inter-dimensional dark sorcerer will do.” The Archon placed a hand on Harkas’ shoulder, matching eye level as her gaze intensified.   
“And when that time comes, I know our foes will find themselves seeking mercy on the underside of your boot.”  
“And if they have you?” Harkas posed the question  
“Then they only invoke your fullest wrath.”  
Harkas fluttered for a moment, a brief flicker of hope that was gone as soon as it appeared.  
“Unless I lose control again…Then I’m no better than a rabid dog.” Y’shtola shifted her hand just a little, curling her fingers round the back of the warriors neck.  
“You maintained more control than you believe, Harkas.” Her words were soft and encouraging, her stern face softening to a smile, but Harkas scowled and turned away.  
“You saw me. He baited me right into his trap. Proved me the savage I am.” She grumbled.  
“And you wanted him dead?”  
“You heard what he said about Rei. I wanted to tear him limb from limb. Literally.” The warrior gave a deep sigh. “But I knew that would be what he wanted. And you can’t just kill one of the heroes of the realm without consequence. Even if you helped him.” Again, Harkas hid her head in her knees. The archon gave a cheery sneer, lifting her hand and running her dainty fingers through the warriors newly regrown hair, gently stroking her head.  
“You’re aware he yet draws breath, aren’t you?”

It took a moment for Harkas to react, lifting her head a few ilms.  
“I didn’t kill him? But…everything he said…I lost myself to the beast…” she was mumbling, though Y’shtola picked up every word.  
“And even in that unruly state you still restrained yourself. That doesn’t sound like the actions of some vagabond savage, if you ask me. He may have spent years pursuing arcane knowledge, modelling himself a scholar, and yet it all came to nothing.” The Archons words cut through Harkas’ thoughts like a knife. “He may have sought to prove you a beast, but all he achieved was to show your control, even when your worst was brought to bare.”  
Y’shtola shuffled herself round, now kneeling in front of the Roegadyn, and even sat straight she still dipped below level with the hunched warrior, who found herself unable to tear herself away from the miqo’te. Her situation wasn’t helped as she felt the dainty fingers brush over her cheeks, gently pressing down, encouraging her to keep staring into the gem-like eyes of her partner.  
“But surely you’d be better off with someone better versed in history. Someone…well, smarter.” Harkas still put up some resistance, still sounding unsure of herself. Despite the week together, she still doubted her worthiness. One final smile dismissed her worries.  
“I’m better off with whomever I choose to be with.” Slowly, the Archon drew closer, leaning in until their faces were ilms apart, before her voice dropped to a whisper.  
“And I have made my choice. I made my choice many moons past.” And with that, she pressed her lips against Harkas’, savouring the feeling as someone who could withstand myriad magicks and blades crumbled at her touch. Both of their eyes drifted shut. She felt the giant hands wrap around her back, trembling, holding her close, and she felt safe. No doubt she’d hear endless teasing from Lyse the next day, but if that was the price she had to pay, she did so willingly.

Moments passed as they were locked together, but eventually, the archon pulled back. More time passed in silence before their eyes began to flutter open, both still desiring the others lips.  
“Many moons ago?” Harkas was the one to break the silence, though it took a second for the archon to discern her meaning, tilting her head.  
“Ah, you mean my decision?” she sought clarification, and Harkas gave a nod. “Well it wasn’t made with you specifically in mind, if that is what you were inquiring about. Just that when the time came, I would offer my affections to the one I felt right. Does that sate your curiosity?” She had just a hint of a taunt in her voice.  
“I guess so. I guess I was hoping that maybe you’d decided on me from the get-go, but I knew that wasn’t the case.” Harkas wore a wry smile. It was clear the events still weighed on her mind, but Y’shtola could tell that she’d alleviated much.  
“When I decided is of no concern, only that I did, and that I will stand by you.” The archon made clear that this was the final word, and Harkas relented, her smile easing just a little.  
“Thank you, Y’shtola. For all this.” Harkas’ was quiet, and if it wasn’t for the already looming silence, it would’ve been easily drowned out.  
“You’ve no need to thank me. I couldn’t leave you in such a state.” Y’shtolas hands slipped down, curling behind the warriors neck and interlinking, heads still only ilms apart. Harkas’ head dipped, breaking the eye contact.  
“I mean, not just for the healing. For being here. I’m meant to be some grand hero, some unflinching warrior, but-”   
“But you’re still a person.” Harkas couldn’t even finish her sentence before the archon jumped in. “Just remain strong. You have allies to support you, and even should they fail, I shall be there beside you, to catch you should you fall.” Her voice was a gentle singing in Harkas’ ears, and her lips curled into a broader smile. “And regarding your fellow Warriors of Light, two of them have at least given us their approval.” Harkas’ rose up somewhat, leaning back against the wall. No longer hunched over she towered almost two fulms over the kneeling miqo’te, and sighed.  
“And how are we going to proceed? Did you ask them to keep it a secret? Or are we playing with our cards on the table, so to speak?” Her question meant it was Y’shtolas turn to look away, looking vaguely embarrassed.   
“Had Lyse not been there, then I would have, But I doubt she would remain quiet even if asked, so I felt it a moot point. No doubt she’s already spreading the word.” There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it appeared that she had accepted the eventuality, and Harkas sighed once more.  
“I suppose I should prepare myself for the inevitable questions, huh?”. She already sounded tired of the inquiries, despite none having arisen, and Y’shtola chuckled in response.  
“You ought also to prepare some new garments.” She glanced over at the tattered remains of Harkas’ coat and shirt, and Harkas quickly became aware of her half-nude state, her face turning a vivid red, her hands quickly pulling away from the archon and attempting to cover herself.  
“That’s probably a good idea.” She stammered, quickly lifting herself to her feet and moving to the wardrobe. Y’shtola could only smile as she watched Harkas try to hide herself behind the door, her form far too big to properly conceal as she rummaged through, pulling out a plain white tunic and throwing it on.  
“I suppose I’ll have to talk to Daseaux tomorrow. See where he gets his armour from.” The wardrobe door groaned closed, and Harkas looked more like a simple villager than a warrior. “Because if this is going to become the standard, I’m going to need more protection. Maybe I can get something more intimidating, too. Make people think twice before attacking.” She mused. She sounded solemn, though she lacked the near hopeless tone she had previously, which was at least some reassurance to Y’shtola.  
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more yourself.”   
“Well, it’s hard to stay down too long. He may have said some really rough things, but in the end, he’s the one in jail with a busted face.” She did her best to appear proud and cheery, but it was obvious that she was merely putting on a brave face. “But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t the biggest reason. Chances are I’d have been down and out for days. And the scars I’d have…We’re going to have to find another companion, too. It goes without saying that I’m never going to work with him again. Because if I even have to talk to him ever again, I’d much rather just end him there and then.” a bit more of the heroic bravado arose, but the moment was ruined as Harkas’ stomach growled. Her stoic mood ruined, she rubbed her abdomen. “I suppose I haven’t eaten in a while, either. That whole ordeal may only have lasted a few minutes, but it really takes it out of you.” Y’shtola could only offer a chuckle as she rose to her feet.  
“Well then, shall we locate the others and adjourn to the dining halls?”  
“You took the words right out of my mouth, then made them sound more eloquent.” Harkas said with a grin, and headed for the door. Y’shtola soon followed suit, finding the door held open by the warrior.

Back out in the hallway, it was still mostly shrouded in shadow. A handful of Ala Mhigan guardsmen still watched the area, a few torches now lit in their sconces on the wall, but for the most part, the warriors main light source was the candle carried by the archon. The scene had been tidied, F’Rhigi had been moved, presumably to the gaol, and no other Scions nor Warriors of Light could be seen. As the door groaned shut the guardsmen looked their way, but upon realising their identities, only offered a salute before returning to their conversation. Together, the pair made their way through the palace. Neither said a word, both had already voiced their prominent concerns earlier, but Harkas felt a hand creep over her own as the archon slipped into her palm, giving the Roegadyns much larger hand a reassuring squeeze, which was quickly returned, Y’shtolas’ hand completely enveloped within the warriors.

The mess hall was simply one of the palaces dining halls, nearest the kitchens, that the resistance had converted, having filled it with extra tables. It still held the decorations and heraldy of Ala Mhigan kings past, paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls, but the floor was littered with small groups of off-duty soldiers taking their meals. The scions had claimed one of the vacant tables, some distance from the other soldiers, hoping for some quiet. Alongside Y’shtola and Harkas were Lyse and Alphinaud. Thankfully, while Lyse would constantly beam at the couple whenever she looked at them and chime in with not-quite-so subtle couple jokes, prompting a number of confused looks from the young elezen, she said nothing about the relationship, leaving him out of the know, at least for the time being.

Time passed quickly, the group discussing plans for Doma, the future of Ala Mhigo, the attack earlier that night, much to Harkas’ chagrin, and just what to do with the now traitorous Warrior of Light. The only conclusion reached was that they’d have to start searching for another Echo-blessed to replace him. Eventually, time came for Alphinaud to return to his duties, and with him went Lyse and Y’shtola, who bade the warrior a goodnight and a subtle “see you tonight” much to the monks delight, leaving Harkas alone. She kept the calm, somewhat cheerful demeanour up right up until the trio vanished from sight, where immediately her face dropped, showing her exhaustion as she turned back to the empty table, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of tea as she stared into its shimmering surface. 

She was soon drifting into daydreams, pictures of her late sister, their last moments together as she held Reisui in her arms, desperately trying to keep her in place as she faded, tiny lights floating away as her aether disappated until there was nothing left to hold. Even her soul crystal was taken by her fairies as they too vanished, leaving Harkas crumpled in the center of the Steps of Faith, a howling mess of a woman. The dreadwyrm Nidhogg was vanquished, his eyes pulled from Estinien, but she felt no joy at the victory. Harkas wondered if her sister would approve her and Y’shtola, of the risk she was taking. No doubt she’d want the warrior to find happiness, and there was no doubt the archon provided just that, but within a week someone had tried to kill her simply because of that. It was possible that if Reisui were still here then the warrior wouldn’t have confessed when she had. But this was pointless posturing. What was done was done, for better or worse. At least she had the archon.

Her daydreams were interrupted suddenly, however, as a tankard thudded down onto the table beside her. Jerking back to reality, her head snapped round and her vision was filled with shining silver plate.  
“Y’shtola’s really worked some magic on you, hasn’t she?” came the confidant voice of Daseaux, as he rounded the table and lowered himself onto a bench opposite the warrior. “Not a trace of damage left on you.”. Harkas only responded with an acknowledging grunt as she watched him. He didn’t have his helmet with him, his blonde hair looking almost amber in the torchlight and his chiselled features were accentuated by shadow, and in his hands he held another tankard. “I figured you could use something a bit stronger than tea after this evening. It may not be wine, but this ale isn’t the worst.” He emphasized his point with a swig, his armour lightly clanking. The warrior gave an appreciative smile, one hand leaving her ceramic mug and moving to grasp the handle.  
“Thanks. I could really use something to help ease my thoughts.” Her smile turned a little awkward, though she tried her best to mask it.  
“I’m not surprised, after all that. How’re you holding up?”  
“I could be worse, all things considered.” Harkas tried to sound optimistic, but it was clearly strained. “Y’shtola patched me up pretty good. Both physically and emotionally.” Her answer made the Elezen smirk as he watched her.  
“Good to hear she’s treating you well, then. I’d really hope she was, considering tonight’s revelation. That whole…being a couple affair.” Even hearing it caused the warrior to turn a deep red, and she tried to hide her embarrassment behind a gulp of ale. “So, how long have the two of you been together?” 

The warriors response was uncharacteristically timid. She kept the tankard in front of her mouth, trying her best to hide her blush.  
“It’s been…just over seven moons now. I think tonight’s the eighth since I accidentally confessed.”. Daseaux cocked an eyebrow as he drank, pulling the tankard away briefly.  
“Accidentally?” he pried a bit further, and Harkas closed her eyes, frustrated that she kept digging herself deeper.  
“Yeah…She was asking me about something, talking about knowing my secret. So when I admitted that I thought I’d fallen in love with her, it turned out she had no idea I felt that strongly about her. She just thought I was smitten.” She paused briefly, gulping down another mouthful of ale to steady herself. “It took her a day to figure out her own thoughts, but…well, you already know the result.” Daseuax chuckled, watching the warrior drown her embarrassment, but quickly his face turned dour.  
“I’d be surprised if you saw all this coming, though.” He still looked troubled by the events of the evening.  
“Can’t say I ever did. I expected to have to protect her from say, the Garleans. Or the Ascians. Not have someone try to kill me because of her.” Harkas let out a resigned sigh as she lowered her tankard, matching Daseauxs’ stern look. “Least of all another Warrior of Light.”  
“I’ve known that Rhigi had his own feelings for Y’shtola, but…Well I didn’t know it’d push him that far.” The warrior tilted her head, curious.   
“How long has he sought her?” she asked, and the Elezen pondered for a moment.  
“Well, I don’t know when it started, but I know he tried to court her back when we first went to combat Titan. She made her disinterest plain as day, but it didn’t discourage him much. In fact it made him more resolute, if anything. He had this whole plan where he’d return to his tribe after all this was over, with Y’shtola by his side, and claim the title of Nunh. Not much of a chance of that happening now, huh.”  
“Well isn’t that too bad for him.” Harkas’ response was dripping sarcasm, prompting an awkward silence between the two, both opting to fill it with a long drink.

It was Daseaux who eventually broke the quiet after looking Harkas up and down.  
“I have to say, it’s odd seeing you in garb that…rustic. It doesn’t really suit you, if you ask me.” He sounded a bit more cheerful compared to just prior, enjoying the peasant-dressed Roegadyn.  
“Well, the fire kind of ruined my shirt. And my coat, which is annoying, to say the least. I loved that coat.” The warrior sounded a bit glum, lamenting the death of her outfit.  
“It was a fine coat, yes. Not a style I’d expect from an axe toting warrior, but it worked.” The elezen nodded in agreement.  
“That does remind me, though.” Harkas took advantage of the pause in conversation. “I think it might be time to finally invest in some proper armour.”  
“Not a terrible idea, even if you still had your coat.”  
“Mm. But I don’t really just want any old suit of armour. Who made yours?” Harkas spent a moment admiring the near-pristine silver plate that adorned the Dark Knight as he spoke.  
“Ah, this? I had it commissioned shortly after we defeated the Archbishop, from one of the best smiths in the Temple Knights, if not Ishgard entirely.” He lifted an arm, showing off the gauntlet with a touch of admiration. “Crafted especially for me. And I must say, it’s an astounding piece of work.” The warrior nodded, appreciating the quality, the detailed metal plates covering even the fingers as they bent and curled.  
“Do you think he’d be willing to create something for me?” she asked, with a hint of hope.  
“I don’t see why not. After all, you’re one of the saviours of Ishgard. I’m sure he’d be delighted to have another Hero of Eorzea bearing his works.” The good news allowed Harkas to relax a little, smiling softly.  
“That’s good then, Though I think I’d better get this done sooner, so I’ll head to Ishgard in the morning. Where can I find him?” the warrior asked, picturing the layout of the Holy City in her head. The Elezen hesitated briefly, bringing a finger to his chin.  
“How about I just show you tomorrow? I’ve been wanting to return home sometime, see how the reform is going, check in on family.” Harkas nodded  
“That would work too. Might help having you with me if he’s not entirely enthusiastic.”. Both took another drink, Daseaux draining the last of his ale and eyeing the now visable metal base.  
“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow.” he grunted as he rose back to his feet, sliding out from the bench. “I’ve some tasks I must attend to before the day is done, but let us meet tomorrow at say, ten bells at the palace entrance?”  
“Works for me.” The Warrior answered, and the Elezen gave an affirming nod, followed by a quick warriors salute, banging a plated fist against his breastplate before winding his way through the crowd of soldiers, and leaving the warrior alone once more, though this time she seemed less gloomy as she drank the last of her ale.

Gradually, F’Rhigi awoke in a dark, damp stone room, groaning loudly. His face was in considerable pain and as he brought his hand up to it, felt the unmistakeable texture of dried blood that had drained from almost all his features. His nose, his mouth, even one of his eyes seemed to have a bloodtrail, not to mention the swelling he could feel all over. Next he realised he had been stripped of all clothing beyond a ragged shirt and trousers, not did he have any of his magical foci. There was one entry into this room, a thick wooden door reinforced with bands of iron, a small rectangular hole filled with wrought iron bars stood just above his head level, and as he rose, grumbling in discomfort, he heard movement outside. Soon, a face mostly covered with the Ala Mhigan resistances facemask peered through the viewport.  
“Finally awake, are you?” came a gruff voice before it disappeared behind the door again, and F’Rhigi could hear him speaking to someone else. “He’s awoken. Send a missive to the commander, she wanted to talk to him at the earliest opportunity.” Followed by “Yes sir!” in a softer voice as footsteps echoed down the hall, growing more distant.

F’Rhigi’s demands to know where he was were met with silence from the guard at his door, as were his requests for his gear. Eventually, his questioning garnered a response from the Hyur outside.  
“You’re in the gods damn gaol, you fool. Now shut up.”  
“The gaol? Why in the hells would I be-” he tried to protest, but clutched his head in pain. Memories began to return. Of his failed attack, of the confrontation with Lyse, Y’shtola, Daseaux and Tufufu, and of the raging beasts fists coming at him. The recollection angered him into silence, but even that didn’t last as he realised that an enraged beast would be of little appeal to the archon. That had been his plan with the goading. To expose her as the uncontrollable savage she was, though he wished he hadn’t done such a good job, his face twitching as he pictured the oncoming blows.

He didn’t know how much time passed in the silence. The lack of windows, or any natural light made it tough to determine the time of day. Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching. Three sets, as he made it, followed by hushed chatter outside. Soon after, he heard the two voices from before utter a “Ma’am.” And their diminishing footfall. Clearly someone had come to question him, and he awaited their appearance in the viewport. To his surprise, there was a clatter as wood hit stone, and a blonde haired woman appeared behind the bars.  
“Ah, Commander Hext. To what do I owe the pleasure?” his words contained a shot of venom for good measure. He cared little for what Lyse had come for, after all, she already knew all he was willing to tell her.  
“I’ve just come to appraise you of your situation.” She sounded unusually stern, cold.  
“Well you have my attention. Not like I can do anything to stop you in here, anyways.” He gave a dismissing shrug.  
“No doubt you’ve noticed your injuries persist. None of our conjurers nor medicants felt inclined to aid you beyond Tufufu repairing your eye, an act of mercy we granted you only because of your service to Eorzea. The Scions have discussed the matter of the attack on Harkas last night, and we have reached a decision.” There was a pause as Lyse looked off to the side, to someone just out of sight, before she gave them a resolute nod. “F’Rhigi Tia. For the attempted murder of Harkas Rallur, you are dismissed from the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” She didn’t sound entirely comfortable making such an announcement, but she powered through, and the news came as another hammer blow to the imprisoned Miqo’te.  
“And who gave you the authority to give such orders?” he growled.  
“The united decision of all acting leaders.” Came a voice from out of sight, though he could immediately recognise it as belonging to Y’shtola. Lyse again glanced to the side, presumably at the archon before turning back.  
“And you are to remain incarcerated until such a time as we deem fit to release you.” The monk added. “That is all.” And pulled herself away from the viewport, the sound of boots on wood noticeable as she disappeared, more down than sideways. “Anything you want to say?” she could be heard just on the otherside, and then two footsteps were heard as Y’shtolas’ snow coloured ears poked into view, soon followed by the rest of her face as she looked disdainfully into the cell.  
“This was brought about by your own doing, F’Rhigi. You’re a blight upon the Warrior of Light title, and I feel no remorse in telling you that I regret not your dismissal, and that in every aspect I would choose Harkas over you.” An uncommon act of spite from the Archon that bit deep into F’Rhigi, his face twisting how it could into a disfigured snarl. “And should you ever be free of this confinement, should you ever lay even a finger upon her, that you shall find yourself festering from the inside out.” A final threat from the archon signified the end of her statement as she vanished from sight. Fading footsteps followed as the two scions left, leaving F’Rhigi in the creeping darkness, wanting to fire barbs back at the scions that had befouled him so, but unable to force any words past his clenched jaw, even as it physically pained him. 

Soon after, he heard the guards returning, one taking up their post outside in the corridor, the other moving off, presumably on patrol, and the Thaumaturge was eerily calm. After all, this gaol would be unable to hold him forever, and when he was free, he’d be able to correct this cruel mistake. Nobody was invincible, everyone had a weakness, and finding Harkas’ wouldn’t prove a major challenge. Nor would Y’shtolas’ condemnation. She would come to realise he was the only right choice. After all, minds can be changed, voluntarily or by force. There were no doubt ample concoctions and incantations that could see to that. He just needed to locate them, then all would be as it should. Giving a sneering chuckle, he sat himself back down on the wooden board that was his bed. He would endure the gaol for the time being. No doubt some business would draw mighty Warriors of Light and Scion alike back to Doma. He merely needed to wait for his opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was where things felt like they started to drag out, so, apologies if it's not quite up to scratch. Lots I wanted to write, but not a lot of solid plans to write it.

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly just wanted to start including other WoLs beyond the one, since "one and only hero" never sat quite right with me. This turned out far longer than I expected it to, though. Probably declined closer to the end/In later chapters.


End file.
